


On the Efficacy of Protective Enchantments

by wintersyzygy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery, Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Character Interpretation, Ben Copper Needs A Hug, Character Study, F/M, Female Player Character (Hogwarts Mystery), Got annoyed by slow canon character development, Spoilers, Spoilers up to Y5 Chap 1, This one at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersyzygy/pseuds/wintersyzygy
Summary: There's nothing more that he regrets than following the instructions on the black quill - because when he wakes up, there's a phantom cold sensation that won't disappear, a hole in his memories, and a voice in his head that's decidedly not his own.Inspired by Ben's Y5 DADA class dialogue: "Protective enchantments keep other scary stuff out - but what about the scary stuff that's already inside?"





	1. Chapter 1

"Copper, Ben."

He approaches the sorting hat like he's being sent to the gallows. The hat itself is pointy and uncomfortable, and knowing that there’s hundreds of students staring at him sends chills down his spine. He screws his eyes shut. There's nothing more he wants than to be swallowed by the ground – and that's a scary thought – what if it actually can?

'One for rambling, aren't you? Let's see now, diligence, empathy, plenty of potential for kindness, a splash of thirst for knowledge... and a surprisingly well buried trove of courage and desire to prove yourself - now isn't _that_ interesting.'

Ben clenches his fists and thinks with all his might, ‘ _Please just sort me into Hufflepuff.’_

'Is that what you want? Your head certainly thinks so, but your heart has other ideas. There's promise for you in Hufflepuff, yes, but you're headed for greater things if you listen more to your heart. What better time than now to take that first step, eh? Let's go with-'

_No._

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The applause from the Gryffindor table sounds like a herd of stampeding elephants hurtling towards him and spelling out his impending doom. As he sits down at the end of the table, a goblet of pumpkin juice appears in front of him. He tries not to, but he startles visibly. 

"Muggle-born, right?" The prefect next to him asks with a sympathetic smile.

He nods.

"You'll get used to it soon enough!" The prefect claps him too hard on the back. A reflexive flinch is all it takes for him to send his goblet clattering across the table. The pumpkin juice spreads for _one-two-three_ seconds, then disappears with a crack – but the damage is done. Not to the tablecloth, that's good as new now – but to him. There's no vanishing the mortification that flushes through him, the paralysing fear that takes root and refuses to relinquish its hold.

His house calls him butterfingers on that first night; the school calls him the Gryffindor coward by the end of seven.

It's nothing new.

The only person that approaches him willingly is the one that's more infamous than him. The nicer ones call her Jacob Thorn's sister; the rest call her the lunatic-to-be. She waltzes into his life without any pre-amble, refusing to take no for an answer, introducing herself simply as Kiera.

She stands up against Merula, she helps him gather the courage to fly, she's more than what the rumours make her out to be; what any Slytherin is supposed to be. It makes a tiny, rebellious part of him wonder if he can be more than what everyone makes him out to be too.

(He has a feeling that she wouldn't simply leave if he pushed her away. But just in case she does, he can't bring himself to try.)

 

+++

 

(Mrs Copper doesn’t want to admit it – but watching her son grow up has been difficult. She doesn’t know when to coddle him, when to force him to face his fears, when to have him tested for generalised anxiety disorder… the list could go on for miles. The letter from Hogwarts, foreign and insane as it was, was a relief.

It’s been a year since then, and she’s afraid of what she’ll find. Will he be a nervous wreck? Was letting him go when she knew his mental state her absolving her responsibility as a mother? 

She spots her son at the end of the platform, waving goodbye to a group of girls. They seem nice, the kind that wouldn’t get into trouble, and the tightness in her chest loosens a little.   

Her nine-year-old daughter accosts Ben the moment he turns towards them. Jennifer is bursting with curiosity, and the car trip back home is filled with rapid fire questions like ‘ _Can you fly?’_ and _‘Is the castle magical too?’_ which Ben answers readily. He’s still worried they’ll crash on the drive home, but that’s normal, and he seems fine. The knot in her chest finally unties itself.

But a mother is a mother, and with time, it doesn't take a very good one to know that there is something on her son’s mind.  

Sometimes, when she checks on Ben at midnight, he's still awake. There will be a black quill by the side of his bed, the same one that she catches him staring at like it's a bomb. Sometimes, he'll be reading a textbook – more often than not, it’s something to do with charms, but sometimes it’s a huge tome about the history of Hogwarts. She's a scientist by profession – she knows what's it like to read literature for fun, and when it’s literature review _._

Mrs Copper has questions, but she can’t help feeling like she doesn’t want the answers.)

 

+++

 

Most of Ben was relieved that Kiera chose to take Penny with her, but there was a part of him that was… jealous. Unreasonably so, he knows – she’s good at potions and popular and nice, even to _him._ Why would anyone pick an unreliable coward over her? But the niggling, shameful thought of _I-knew-her-first_ dwelled on his mind throughout his summer, and it influences him to make the singularly most stupid decision of his life. 

He shouldn’t have followed the instructions on the black quill. He should have left it where he found it, should have thrown it away instead of casting _reparifarge_ , should have told someone about the message. He should never have let his fear of being irrelevant get the better of him. There's nothing more that he regrets than that – because when he wakes up, there's a phantom cold sensation that won't disappear, a hole in his memories, and a voice in his head that's decidedly not his own.

His eyes snap open as he gasps, heart thundering in his chest. The ceiling of the hospital wing greets him with the sort of comfort sterile whiteness instils – that is to say, none at all.

 _'Finally.'_ The voice is loud and sibilant. It wraps around the insides of his brain, makes its home where it is not welcome. 

 _'What are you?'_ Ben thinks desperately. _'What did you do?'_

_'A powerful, ancient entity. The will behind the vaults.'_

Ben feels his insides grow cold, and he has to fight the urge to gag. It's far, far worse than the tingling sensation of frostbite that has settled on the surface of his skin. He needs to tell Kiera, Pomfrey, Dumbledore-

 _'I can sense your intentions.'_ The voice turns guttural and coils around his thoughts like a python ready to kill. _'Make my existence known, and I'll take more of your memories. I will use you as a vessel to hurt your friends.'_

Unbidden images of the lifeless corpses of Penny, Rowan, and Kiera flash in his mind and linger. Even after they fade away, the insides of his chest feel like they're clenching around his lungs, squeezing his breath out of them. He's known fear all his life – but this is a bone-deep terror that strikes deeper than anything he's ever known.

He squeezes his eyes shut, stems the flow of tears gathering in his eyes. _'What do you want with me?'_  

"Ah Mr Copper, you're awake!" Madam Pomfrey approaches him, and Ben has never been more grateful for yet frustrated by her timing. The presence slithers away to a corner of his mind, an Indian cobra poised to pounce for the kill at his slightest misstep.

"How are you feeling?" The medi-witch asks as she casts a few diagnostic spells.

He feels scared. Violated. Possessed. He bites his tongue. "Cold."

Madam Pomfrey nods briskly. "That is to be expected. The sensation should fade after two to three days."

He nods numbly, wraps the blanket tighter around him.  

The voice in his head laughs – cold and mocking. 

 

…

 

“Are you sure you don’t remember anything at all?” Kiera asks, her brows furrowed.

Kiera's visit kills him inside. It's true that he remembers nothing specifically, but he has enough clues to guess what happened. But he can't even allude to anything, not with the presence in his mind proverbially breathing down his neck. 

He wants to warn her about himself, and likely, her brother too. It's just a theory, but he has himself as evidence and he’s not about to wish it on anyone else to test it: whoever first touches each vault in each cycle of curses will be cursed with the burden of carrying the vault's consciousness, and a specific curse pertaining to the nature of the vault.

It's enough to drive anyone insane, Jacob Thorn included. 

The presence creeps upon the edges of his consciousness, a shadow reaching out from the darkness. Ben recognises the warning, lets the words he wants to say wither away at the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says helplessly.

“Don’t be. That’s not what I meant.” Kiera lightly whacks his head with the packet of chips she brought for him. Madam Pomfrey somehow hears it from the other side of the hospital wing and proceeds to admonish her. Kiera nods, pulls a face at him when Madam Pomfrey turns around.

His laugh catches both of them by surprise.

 

…

 

The coldness doesn't fade. At least, not for the next three weeks. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he had _hoped._ It was foolish of him.  

He is glad they have learnt warming charms – they help to dull the edge of the sting – but he's only twelve, and he _tries_ , but it simply isn't sustainable for him to cast them on a semi-permanent basis. Not if he doesn't want to black out during classes.

At some point, he just gets used to the cold. They’re not half as bad as the voice’s threats and insults. Those take more out of him than any physical cold ever will.

 

…

 

Fortunately, he had the foresight not to destroy his own notes on the ice vault. He merely transfigured and hid them. Reading them once again, it becomes quite clear what spells he had used to hide evidence of his tampering with the vault. He wishes he’d practised them less.

At the end of the year, Kiera asks both Bill and him to explore the cursed vault with her. He accepts, but the entire experience is more bitter than sweet. Ben doesn’t remember fighting the ice knight and there’s nothing on it in his notes – perhaps he found an alternative? He’ll never know.

There’s a part of him that wants to scream that he’s been here before, but the presence in his mind rears its ugly head, and there’s nothing more he can do than to bite his tongue and keep his silence. 

He hopes the purposeful expertise with which he covers their tracks will get Bill and Kiera’s suspicious, and have them wonder if there is something that he’s hiding. It’s his second time performing those spells right here, and he firmly regrets being good enough at them the first time around. 

 

+++

 

(It’s Mrs Copper’s second year at platform nine-and-three-quarters. She watches him wave to a familiar group of girls, to a couple of red-headed boys she hasn’t seen before. 

It’s a good sign, she thinks, that convincing Ben that it’s perfectly safe for them to travel to Sweden for a holiday is less Herculean a task than she expected. As always, he’s still afraid of plane rides and the risk of getting hit by lightning. But this time, he expresses no concern about the notorious cold of Nordic winters, and that has to be a step in the right direction.

She would have thought nothing more of it if Ben hadn’t made his way through the freezing wind to the car they’d chartered wearing just his sweater and pants even while the rest of them shivered in their winter coats.  

“Aren’t you cold? Put on your jacket, Ben.” Her husband had all but squawked when he noticed.  

“…Sorry, I forgot.” Ben had replied after an awkward pause, as if it was that easy to simply _forget_ a physiological sensation.

But what scared her hadn’t been her son’s newfound resistance to cold – perhaps, that was just a wizard thing. It had been the flash of horror on his face when her husband pointed it out – as if they had discovered something they were not supposed to. There’s a story there, one that Ben doesn’t offer and that she doesn’t ask for. She still wishes she did, because if she had to pin-point it, that was the crack that grew into the schism that now exists between them.)

 

+++

 

In his third year back at Hogwarts, Ben wonders what appearance a Boggart would take in his presence. What he thinks is his greatest fear nowadays out of his many great fears… Well, he can’t really think of a way to visualise that.

Kiera spends more time with a couple of new friends – she makes them so easily – nowadays. Tulip Karasu and Nymphadora Tonks are a pair of tricksters, and suffice to say, Ben doesn’t really get along with them. Or Rowan, for that matter.    

Instead, he spends his time laying low in the comfort of his dormitory or the artefact room, conducting his own research and practising his own spells. It takes more sleepless nights and pepper-up potions than he would like, but he finally learns how to shut out the voice in his head and channel it into background noise. Soon after, he learns how to amplify his thoughts to drown it out when he needs to concentrate or cast a relatively challenging spell.

He wonders, sardonically, if when the time comes, he will have an edge in non-verbal spellcasting because of this.

 

...

 

The disillusionment charm comes naturally to Ben – it feels familiar, as if he's cast it before – and he knows it might just be paranoia, but there's a sense of unease settling in his chest that he can't shake. Right now, however, he can’t afford to dwell on the matter. There’s too much he has to do.

He needs to get to the vault before Kiera does, just in case his theory is right. Only someone with Jacob Thorn’s blood will be able to open the vault now, but that doesn’t mean that Kiera is immune to any of the curses if she’s the first to touch each vault in each cycle.

It’s pretty shocking what form the Boggart takes when he finally meets one in the vaults. Sadly for the boggart, it’s not a fear that’s effectively visualised with him standing right there. He casts a _Riddikulus_ , ignores the threats of the voice in his head and reaches his hand out to brush against the smooth surface of the second vault.

If his theory is correct, he should now be cursed with perpetual fear. It’s kind of amusing. What’s new? This particular curse will be a piece of cake for him to handle.

 

…

The celebration at the Three Broomsticks is nice and hypothetically warm, but Ben feels like he doesn’t belong in this expanded friend circle of Kiera’s. Rowan is regarding him with open suspicion, which is something he might have wanted intellectually, but the direction she’s going with it hurts more than he expected.  

"I'm not lying to protect you." He says, heart lodged in his throat. He's waiting for someone to pick it up – that he repeated the question stem, what that means in any detective show.

But thanks to Kiera's faith in him, everyone else seems to take it at face value, except Rowan, who doesn't believe him but misses what he's trying to say.

Ben's frustration skyrockets. Haven't wizards heard of how-to-detect-a-liar-101?

The presence in his mind laughs at him yet again. He firmly shuts it out.

 

+++

 

(It’s the middle of her son’s third summer back. There is an elephant in the room - Jennifer hasn’t got a letter from Hogwarts, and she’s devastated. The conversation at the dining room table is stilted at best.

"It’s not even fair. I got better grades and have more friends and I do way more extra activities. How did you get one and not me?"

It's a hurtful question that invites a painful answer, even if Mrs Copper doubts her son's capability of giving one. In all thirteen years of mothering him, she's never known him to go beyond frustration. She's all but ready to change the topic when she's interrupted - by the slam of a fist on the table and the screech of a chair pushed backward abruptly.

All motion at the dining table is stilled. They turn to Ben in shock. His hands are clenched, and there's a deep anger mixed in with the warring intentions that dwell within his eyes – as if there's things he wants to say but knows he shouldn't, and it's killing him to keep it in.

" _Of course_ it's unfair. Did you think I wanted any of this?"

His voice drips with bitterness, and in the end, that's all he says before he goes up to his room and shuts the door with a thud. She exchanges a helpless glance with her husband.

It breaks her heart to see the relationship between them fray with each day that goes by after that. Jennifer's always out with friends, and Ben spends his days either cooped up in his room with his head buried in books, or out to God knows where. On the rare occasions they're both home, Jennifer stops asking Ben about magic; Ben stops saying much at all. 

Mrs Copper sees very little of her children that summer.)

 

+++

 

The fact that the next vault is in the forbidden forest sends chills down his spine. The only thing he wants less than entering the forest is having Kiera succumb to a curse as well.

Kiera’s slightly tighter with details these days, but she still greets Ben with a smile and tells him about her progress with the vaults. It means a lot to him that he still has lunch with him sometimes, even though Ben knows for a fact Rowan gives her flack over it.

She doesn’t, however, tell him about Rakepick's self-serving advice that counters his until it's too late. Ben may not be one to speak, but he has some… suspicions about her.

(He knows he hasn't any right, but something in his chest twinges every time he remembers that Kiera would listen to a stranger's advice over his.)

 

…

 

He lied to Kiera – there was a broom in the artefact room – but it _is_ broken like the ones in Filch’s office apparently were, and he needs it for himself.

“ _Reparo!_ ” He tries.  

The handle of the broomstick twitches pathetically, but doesn’t make any effort to re-join with the rest of the broom.   

 _'What a crude attempt. Repairing a broom that’s physically snapped isn't as simple as casting a simple reparo.'_ The voice laughs.

Ben grits his teeth, resists the urge to snap the broom handle further. _'Any suggestions?'_

 _'Why would I tell you?'_ The voice asks with an audible sneer.

Ben falls asleep reading a bunch of books about spells for brooms, the two halves of the broom next to him. When he wakes up the next morning, he finds himself holding a whole one. He hadn't found a solution when he fell asleep.  

His heart goes into overdrive.

Shit. Had the voice done it before? It hadn’t been lying about the possession thing. Over the past two years, he’d slowly learnt to be less afraid of the presence in his mind – but now it hits him again, with all the force of a full freight train.

 _‘We could accomplish so much more if you let me take over.’_ The voice whispers, saccharine promise coating the darkness hidden within.

 _‘No way in hell.’_ Ben thinks in desperate response. There’s a queasy feeling in his stomach, and he can’t help feeling like he’s got to hurl. He makes a mad dash for the toilet, ignoring the annoyed yell of someone he nearly knocks over, and barely makes it in time to empty the contents of his stomach. His vision is swimming. He lets himself sink to the ground, rests his head against cool porcelain and takes in a few shaky gulps of air.

It’s been a while since he had a panic attack quite so bad.

 

…

 

He nearly gets a heart attack the first time he practises flying with a disillusioned broom. His big mistake is looking down, seeing a long drop onto concrete where flesh on wood should be.

He's going to need a calming potion for this.

 

…

 

It takes a terrifying reconnaissance trip to find out that this vault is guarded by acromantulas. He’s good, but he hasn’t mastered the disillusionment charm, couldn’t quite get rid of part of his shadow… and he could have sworn one of the acromantulas had been looking straight at him. He’d held his breath as the acromantula swept the area with its eight eyes, only daring to exhale when it left.

The entire experience took years off his life.

As it is, there’s a problem. There’s no way he can just walk up to the vault and hope to fight off the giant _flesh-eating_ spiders guarding it alone.

The easiest way to deal with this would perhaps, be to impersonate the will of the vaults, as the presence in his mind likes to call itself. He’s been listening to its condescension and derision for more than two years now. Surely, he can fake some of it?

 

…

 

The acromantula that greets him was terrifying from afar, and is even scarier up close. It’s huge and hairy and _hungry_. It bares its pincers at him, and there’s no question about its intentions.

"I come to check on my vault." Ben announces with a calm that he doesn't feel.

"Your vault?" The acromantula laughs. "Presumptuous boy. You'll make a good meal."

His heart is pounding in his ears and his instincts are screaming at him to run away. It takes every ounce of effort to force himself to remain still as the acromantula lunges at him, and he can't help but think – is there even going to be a corpse left for the professors to find?

There’s a brilliant flash of light. 

The spider recoils half a metre from his face, pincers clicking angrily at the sting of the rebound. “Filthy human, what did you do?”

Relief fills Ben’s veins, although he tries to keep his expression impassive. The protective charm actually worked! Thank Merlin for the wizards who harvested acromantula venom for having invented it. He takes a deep breath, stands a little straighter, and prepares to lie right through his teeth.

" _You will not harm my vessel._ Do not forget the ancient agreement made with your ancestors, spider. Remember the curse that will befall you if you do." There’s a warning in his voice, one that’s wrapped in ice the way the voice in his head always does it. He didn’t know his own vocal chords were capable of it.

Ben strides forward purposefully, reaches out to stroke the dilapidated surface of the cursed vault as if he's greeting an old friend.

He stills.

There's no jolt of magic this time. What does that mean? He needs to find out. But he can’t show any signs of confusion. Not now. Not when there’s an angry acromantula behind him, searching him for any signs of cracks in his armour.

Ben turns around and stares straight into the acromantula's eight eyes. If it weren’t for the calming potion, he’s pretty sure he would have had dropped dead from fear by now. There’s nothing more that he wants to do than run away.  

"A girl and her friends will come soon to try to dispel the curse." Ben pauses pointedly. He flashes the coldest smile he can muster. "Feel free to _dispose_ of them in whatever way you wish." The sentence tastes acrid in his mouth.

With the promise of bloodshed, it seems like a good time to finally listen to every fibre of his being and get the hell away from here before the acromantula finds out how to circumvent the modified _arania exumai_ barrier.

The acromantula doesn’t acknowledge his words, but its many eyes never leave him, even as he recasts a disillusionment charm and melts into the shadows.

Ben’s heartbeat only begins to slow down when he’s safe in the air. And isn’t that an ironic thought? It’s amazing how his fears have been re-ordered over the years. A well of hysteria rises in him, at the downright reckless and foolish stunt he just pulled – pretty successfully, all things considered – and he wants to laugh.

‘ _How did you think of my performance?’_ He asks the voice, maybe because he’s going insane and he needs an outlet for it.

 _‘Pathetic.’_ The voice answers. There’s a wealth of amusement in its tone – and it’s a bucket of cold water poured over Ben’s head. That’s right, he didn’t feel anything when he touched the vault, not this time.  

Did someone else touch it first?

_(…Did he do all of that for nothing?)_

 

…

 

“What do you think will be guarding the vaults?” Kiera asks pensively.

“The scariest creature in the forest.” Ben offers. “Acromantulas?”

Rowan rises to accuse him again, but he can’t hear it beyond the sudden migraine that hits him. It's the way everyone's heads turn to look at him that makes him realise she must have asked him for an explanation.

“Because that's the story of my life." Ben announces in a melodramatic way that's really more suited for Andre or Tonks than himself.

It’s a weak excuse, but Ben is running on fumes and desperation. He just needs to make sure Kiera can protect herself when she encounters the acromantulas. She’s strong. She can handle them, right?

Kiera, for her part, merely meets his gaze, a considering look on her face. He almost misses the flash of sadness in her eyes, but he doesn't.

A better person would know what to do; Ben swallows and looks away.

 

…

 

It’s his worst fear come true when he comes to and finds himself restrained on the floor with Rakepick pointing her wand at him. Kiera stands next to her, a broken look on her face, and he can see Charlie and Rowan lying on the ground. They’re not moving. _Dear God._

“…Ben?” Kiera’s voice cracks.

His blood runs cold.

He reads the shock in the curve of her eyebrows, the _I-can't-believe-it's-you_ leaking through the pain in her eyes. His heart shatters as her lips form the shape of his name.

_What has he done?_

Ben hates himself. He hates the vaults. He needs to leave before he does any more damage.

“…I don't remember anything." _Again._ He tells the truth on autopilot, but he knows it isn't enough this time. From now on, it will never be.

Kiera steels herself. Ben watches numbly as her walls slam down and she looks away. Her voice is flat when she speaks. "Take him to Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."

She walks away.

Rakepick pulls him up by his wrist none-too-gently; Ben clenches his fists and digs his fingernails into his palm.

The voice fills his head with cruel laughter.

Ben honestly can’t find it in himself to do anything but let it reverberate in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I was grappling with whether or not to include the expanded summer bit in case it seems rather extra, but I also wanted to bring up the point that you can't really pretend that nothing happens in those three months, and there's plenty about everyone that MC just doesn't know. (I included it in the end, but do feel free to skip if you would rather!)

"You may leave us now, Madam Rakepick." Dumbledore's tone is mild, but firm. Ben doesn't care enough to listen to whatever Rakepick replies before she walks away.

It's the second time he's been to Dumbledore's office. It's been almost three years since the last time - and he holds no happy memories of that visit, of being questioned, of that futile trip into the pensieve, only to discover that his memories weren't hidden or repressed; they simply never were. 

He watches with growing horror as Dumbledore reviews the spells cast by his wand. _Petrificus Totalus. Protego. Expulso._ Merlin, had he really used the curse on Kiera? He feels sick. The explosion could have flung her into a wall. She could have hit her head and _died_.

Ben squeezes his eyes shut and exhales the shaky breath he hadn't known he was holding. Numbness seeps into his bones, and it's only when the flashes of light stop that he opens his eyes. There's a tin of lemon drops sitting on the table before him.

"You seem distressed, Mr Copper." Dumbledore says, not unkindly, but with a piercing gaze that disarms him nonetheless.

Ben weakly pushes away the proffered tin, the way he wishes he could simply push down the waves of self-hatred and anger and fear welling up in him.

"I do insist you have one." Dumbledore says, a flicker of sadness - pity - flashing in his eyes. "Have you heard of legilimency, Mr Copper?"

He shakes his head mutely. 

"It is a method of... mind reading, if you will." Dumbledore explains. "Considering these unique circumstances, I will attempt to delve into your mind. I shall request that you do not put up any resistance."

He nods.

Dumbledore meets his gaze, and instantly, there's an insistent pressure against his mind, pushing gently but surely as it combs through, as if it can't find what it wants to. It's uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the omniscient presence in his mind that so easily reads his thoughts before they even coalesce, from the inside out.

The slightest hint of a frown forms on Dumbledore's face. "Try not to resist, Ben."

Ben blinks - he hadn't been trying to. He'd merely been keeping his mind blank - unless that's the problem, which... But there's nothing left for him to lose now, is there? A desperate sort of determination blooms in his chest. If Dumbledore can't find what he's looking for, then Ben will show him. He takes in a deep breath, pulls up the countless memories that haunt him, lets the torrent of ugly emotions that accompany them burst forth to the forefront of his thoughts.

From then on, Dumbledore doesn't reel or pull away or push any deeper; he's a patient listener, even as Ben flashes image after image - of the acromantulas, the boggarts, the vault in the forest, the vault in the library. He recalls snippets of conversations he's had with the voice - the very first - there's a terrible howl in his head that cuts off the story Ben's trying to tell. He lets out a ragged gasp, hands holding his head, but this time, the ache doesn't fade. Tears spring to his eyes from the stabs of pain. He blinks them away furiously, vaguely aware that Dumbledore is murmuring something under his breath but unable to make any sense of it.

The aftershocks of pain take far longer to abate this time, and he suspects it’s only because of whatever counter-spell Dumbledore must have been chanting.

"Are you feeling better?" Dumbledore asks. There's a definitive frown on his face now, which is possibly the most negative expression he's ever seen on the headmaster. 

“Y-yes.” Ben says shakily.

"Correct me if my conclusions are wrong, Mr Copper." Dumbledore begins, right before asking Ben a series of questions. Of course, he isn't wrong. Ben thought it would be scary, but it's liberating to finally have someone so powerful know.

A tiny sliver of traitorous hope creeps into his voice as he asks. "...Do you know how to break the curse?"

Dumbledore lets out a small sigh. "I am afraid not. The vaults are guarded with ancient magic beyond my knowledge. There are people more well-versed in the subject who I will consult. I will do my best, but the process may take some time." Dumbledore says in a way that is both more and less condescending than before.

"So I'm just supposed to continue living with it in my head, knowing that it could take over me any time? I'm… a walking bomb." Ben's voice grows progressively tighter, and finally cracks. "I should be locked away somewhere where I can't hurt anyone."

"I will not punish a student for living with a curse he has fallen to within our school grounds." Dumbledore says firmly. "We will place you under close supervision, but you are free to attend all of your classes as usual. 

Ben sinks lower in his seat. Dumbledore must be insane. How can he expect Ben to be able to even face anyone after this?

"I will escort you to the hospital wing now. It's best to have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you." Dumbledore's eyes are still serious, but there's the beginnings of a kind smile on his face. "You are far braver than anyone has ever given you credit for, Ben."

Once upon a time, Ben would have rejoiced at that statement. Once upon a time, it would have meant everything to him, would have been the lifeline he held on to. But Dumbledore isn't the person he wants to hear those words from, and what use is bravery if he still ends up hurting the people he cares for?

Dumbledore’s words ring hollow in his mind.

 

…

 

“Is it true that you attacked us? Almost killed Kiera?" Charlie asks, plain and simple. His face uncharacteristically betrays nothing, but his tone says it all – disbelief, anger, betrayal.

It’s the first question he gets when he enters the dorm room. It’s just Charlie, Jae Kim, Ben and tonnes worth of tension crackling in the air. There’s a miasma of shame and guilt and anger burning in him, a dangerous concoction that threatens to swallow him whole. He doesn’t know how to reply, how to say what he wants to. He… wanted to explain. To finally tell them what happened – but the words die in his throat. They’re not ready for that. Maybe they never will be. And he's not ready to face them either, not really. He wants nothing more than to disappear.

So, Ben swallows and looks away. “I-I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt any of you.” His voice barely comes out as a whisper.

Charlie isn’t having any of it. His knuckles are white from the force he’s clenching his fists with, and Ben is genuinely afraid that Charlie is going to punch him – something deep inside him wishes he would.

But Charlie is a better man than that, so all he does is exhale sharply. "I need some fresh air." He mutters as he stalks past Ben. The door slams shut after him, leaving behind a sense of finality.

It's the sound of paper rifling that has Ben realise that Jae Kim's heard it all.

“Are you alright with me being here?” Ben asks quietly, his gaze averted to the ground.

“It’s your room too, isn't it? 'Sides, I'd never say no to a client." Jae Kim shrugs, ever indifferent, before looking back down at the stack of parchments and sweets he’s going through. “Here. Just pass me the card after.” He tosses Ben a chocolate frog, and it's pure luck that Ben fumbles and manages to catch it.

It’s sort of really nice to know that there's someone who doesn’t completely hate him.

“…Thanks.” Ben shuffles to his four-poster and draws the curtains. He casts a silencing charm on himself and screams into his pillow until his throat is sore and the pillowcase is damp with tears, until he’s numb inside and he’s finally able to breathe. He unwraps the chocolate frog, nibbles it slowly, lets the sweet taste soothe his frayed nerves.

The voice in his head still lingers there, mocking words and laughs replaced by cold fury and deadly intent. It's been there ever since Dumbledore found out, simmering at the back of his mind.

Ben bites his lip. He’s going to have to design and cast a bunch of time-sensitive protective enchantments around his bed at night to keep himself in, make sure they'll wake everyone in the room up if anyone - his possessed self - tries to remove them. He'll make himself scarce for the rest of the year. Maybe even… for the rest of his time here.

 

…

 

Charlie's interaction with him is neither hostile nor friendly, it's neutral and non-committal in a way that's somehow more painful than complete avoidance. Bill doesn't verbally check on him anymore, although Ben gets the sense that he's watching him whenever they're in the same room. The rest of his friends, if he's still allowed to call them that, he hasn't even seen.

It hurts, but maybe that's how it should be, until Dumbledore manages to find a solution.

Of course, amidst all of this, it's Kiera who searches him out. He doesn't want to see her, doesn't deserve to see her… but he's never been good at saying no to her. He owes her too much for that.

She asks if he's okay; he thanks her for sending him to Dumbledore. Perfectly perfunctory conversation, an ocean of awkwardness and uncertainty between them both - but from Kiera, who's always been so composed and sure of herself, it's painful to watch. He hates that he's done that to her.

He wants to tell her the truth, but… he doesn’t think he can handle it if she doesn’t want to listen. Besides, it would be cruel to do that now, wouldn’t it? There's enough on her plate as it is. So, he keeps his mouth shut, the way he always has, and tries not to break when he lets her walk away from him again.

 

…

 

There’s a new black quill on his bed when he comes back from the restroom. He stops short at the sight, heart turning to ice in his chest. He hasn’t got one since the start of the year with the message about Rakepick. He had always assumed that the voice in his head conveyed any message from R, that they were working together. But if that wasn't true...?

‘ _Instead of sitting around moping about how your friends won't speak to you, you could join me instead... it's the only way you can protect them from what’s coming next._

- _R'_

He crumples the note, transfigures it back into a quill, and simply tries to breathe. He feels sickened at the thought of his safe space – and the others' – being so grossly invaded.

It's late at night, and Ben has long since resolved himself to a sleepless one, even before the voice finally decides to speak. A coil of frustration unravels somewhere deep inside him – will it never end?

_‘Not going to consider the offer? It is rather generous.’_

‘ _Protect them by killing them? I don’t think so.’_

Ben massages his head. There’s something he doesn’t get – what exactly is R's connection to the vaults? He’s starting to get that R must be a group, but who's behind all of it? The tone of the messages differ so much, and he swears they're even contradictory sometimes. How aware of R is the vault, and vice-versa? Do they have the same agenda? And why the recent push to take action?

He has no idea how to even begin investigating, not when every discovery he makes is being spied on.

 _'There's no reason you'd try to kill Kiera instead of letting her get cursed as well unless…'_ Ben pauses as he wonders.

_'You can't actually possess me when I'm not asleep, can you? And you’re trying to stop Jacob, wherever he currently is, from sending Kiera those visions and messages thanks to their blood bond. But there's nothing you can do now. Kiera and all of her friends are on high alert, and there’s no way they will trust me now even if you possess me. Unless you get a new vessel, you’ve lost.'_

The voice remains silent, but emanates a sense of detached, condescending amusement.

Ben's blood runs cold.

It all adds up – the way the third vault hadn't cursed him, the sudden impetus to get Kiera out of the way…

_'You have another vessel, don't you?'_

_‘That is but the least of your worries._ ’ The voice intones. ‘You _have no idea how insignificant you, Kiera and Jacob are now.’_

Ben lets out a shaky breath.

There are no casting protective spells at home. There's no one stopping Ben from picking up a knife in the middle of the night and running his family through with it... and there’s nothing stopping Ben from preventing any of that from happening, by any means necessary.

 

+++

 

It's his fourth summer now, and it’s the first time Mrs Copper feels like her son is now a stranger.

For all his neuroses, Ben had never been quiet or withdrawn. Especially not about his fears. She's also quite sure that her son's been sleeping only around four in the morning, and waking up only late at noon when everyone is out. It's almost as if he's avoiding them.

"It doesn't sound very safe, darling. It's only its second year of establishment, situated in the middle of the woods-"

"But all my friends are going to this camp!"

Children become teenagers, and she's been witnessing every moment of her daughter's… growth. It has only served to remind her of how she's missed most of her son's.

"Can she go if I attend the camp too?" Ben interrupts the conversation.

Jennifer turns to shoot him a weird look, and even Mrs Copper blinks in surprise. She hesitates.

"Wouldn't you rather rest after a taxing year of school?"

"I've been cooped up in school most of the time. I don't mind getting some fresh air for once." Ben replies, a little too smoothly.

Jennifer looks at her expectantly.

At least, her children are on the same side this time.

Mrs Copper sighs, knowing that she’s fighting a losing battle. "Very well, but I expect you both to call back periodically."

They nod.

"Of course, it's all fine just because he's going too." Jennifer mutters as she turns to walk away.

"It makes me feel better to know you're both looking out for each other." Mrs Copper interjects in a tone that brooks no argument.

She expects the unimpressed but accepting look on Jennifer's face, but not the tension that seeps into Ben's jaw.

Jennifer turns to Ben. "Just so you know, this doesn't mean anything. And you better not get in the way or embarrass me in front of my friends."

"Of course not. Besides, I'll probably be grouped with the seniors anyway." Ben points out mildly.

Her daughter sniffs, apparently satisfied.

It's not much, but it's the first time she's actually seen them talk to each other since… last year. Wishful thinking or not, she'll take it as a good sign.

 

...

 

Jennifer Copper is bubbly, pretty, outgoing - and the utter opposite of Ben Copper. That's not to say that Ben is hard to look at. His hair is a shade of gold sand that reminds Shane of his hometown. Granted, he'll pull it off better once he gets a tan; it's unavoidable at summer camp anyway. But the quiet and serious is definitely there, along with the aura screaming stay-away that clearly has a story behind it.

It's no question that Jennifer is far more popular than Ben at the campsite, something aided by how Ben has a tendency of… disappearing instead of participating in the activities. Jennifer tells everyone that Ben's home-schooled, shy and scared of physical activity. Some people buy it, but one look at him is all it takes for Shane to know that that isn't true - the rock wall doesn't actually scare him, he's just going through the motions.

People like Shane however, who have a million other places they'd rather be, find Ben spade loads more interesting. So, while he's pretty surprised to find Ben at his usual spot - the one he's always told his counsellor older cousin never to tell anyone about - he's not displeased.

"Sorry, am I intruding?" Ben asks, genuine apology in his voice.

"Nah." Shane smiles easily, approaches him. "You know, there's some of us who are interested in Jennifer Copper's mysterious older brother."

"...Really? I can't imagine why." Ben shifts to look at him. His face is still obscured in shadows from the foliage, but there's a small glimmer of interest in the blonde's eyes. His voice is light, but there's an edge laying within. He is a walking contradiction - kind and anything but. Shane likes that.

"It's the look in your eyes."

A flash of pure terror flashes in Ben's eyes before his gaze hardens, and all of these prove Shane's point. There's a mismatch between his words and expression when he speaks. "Really? I'm just a regular guy who's afraid of a little too much."

"That's what you want everyone to think." Shane pauses, lets the corners of his lips curve upward. "But I think you're like me."

Ben cocks his head to the side, all the while keeping his gaze focused on Shane. "Which is?"

"Someone with lots of secrets." Shane says. Someone who's close to breaking, he doesn’t.

Ben laughs. There's an element of surprise, but also a bitter timbre to it that he doesn't bother hiding. "I can't deny that."

Shane quirks a corner of his lips up in a way he knows is infectious. "Wanna trade stories?"

Ben smiles wryly. "Sure, but let me warn you that I might run away."

Shane smiles, leans against a tree. "What do you want to know?"

"...How did you get that scar?" Ben doesn't mince words.

Shane knows which Ben is referring to. He introduced it during icebreakers as one that he got during a bad fall down the stairs. A lie. It pleases him that Ben recognises it as such.

"There was a girl who wanted my best friend. I didn't like that. I went to talk to her, she thought I wanted to hurt her and brought out a knife. She got lucky, but I'm far handier with one." Shane pauses. "She moved away next month. Never heard from her again. My friend was devastated."

As expected, Ben doesn't run - he only looks darkly contemplative - and then there's a flash of understanding. "You wanted him? But what were the odds…"

Shane's smirk is his answer. He changes the topic. "What's your most recent misadventure?" 

"…I was under the influence of something. When I woke up, I realised I nearly succeeded killing someone I wanted to protect." Ben says in a deceptively light tone - the white of his knuckles say the rest. "She was my first friend, the only one who trusted me."

"Ah." Shane pauses, lets the words sink in. This level of fucking up is the closest he's come to being evenly matched. It calls to him on a visceral level. "What's your drug?"

_"What?"_

 "Alcohol? Crack? Ice?" He lists examples off the top of his head.

"Oh." A look of amusement flits across Ben's face. "Something similar to ice."

"You must be pretty rich then." Shane says mildly. "I'm more a weed person."

Ben looks at him with a considering expression. "I don't have any weed on me."

Shane laughs. "Just as well that's not what I want from you."

"…And what do you want?"

"You to promise me you'll stop gelling your hair?" Shane laughs even as he leans in toward Ben. He pauses when their faces are barely fifteen centimetres away, lets the promise in his eyes do the talking.

For the first time, Ben breaks eye contact. Shane detects an air of disbelief, of uncertainty in the boy before him, as if he's never done this before. Perhaps, that was how it had been for Shane the first time too. A myriad of emotions flicker by on Ben's face, before he fixes his gaze back on Shane. His lips are a straight line, but his eyes hold a smile.

Ben nods slowly, but surely. "…I guess that can be arranged."

There's shock and inexperience against his lips for a few moments, but Ben's a fast learner, and the rest is history.

 

...

 

Sometimes, when they're laughing by the riverbank, Shane wants to say that there's someone else, that he'll be gone by the time summer ends, but he doesn't. Ben's eyes say it all, even if he doesn't yet know it himself: he has someone else; he'll be gone too.

 

...

 

It's a fleeting fantasy - briefly considering dropping out of Hogwarts and living as a muggle -he's lost four years worth of science education, still has a possession problem to sort out... and he can't imagine living without magic. Not any more, when he can feel it humming under his skin, calling out to him like a siren song.

(How can he relinquish something that can save him from a free-fall through the air? That can put out a fire without the aid of a fire extinguisher?)

This hasn't been the summer Ben wanted or expected for himself, but maybe it's the one he needed to… forgive himself, just a little, and move on. He isn't special; there's plenty of people who've made mistakes too, and for him… it might not be too late. Not yet. Not if he helps the rest fight back.

(In the end, he does get a new hairstyle. Nothing extreme - just a little longer, to remind him of a boy he met last summer who he'll never see again.)

His eyes linger on the tub of gel that's been a staple on his bedside table for the last few years; that he hasn't used for the past few weeks. He picks it up, throws it into the wastepaper basket, and steels himself for the next act in his life.

 

+++

 

Kiera isn't very impressed by the need for prefects to patrol the Hogwarts Express – she just wants to catch up with her friends and plan her next moves. It's only in the name of maintaining her standing among the professors that she doesn't shirk away from her duties. She can't afford another misstep.

She pops into a few carriages, amused by the way some of the first-years cower away from her. The second-years seem more on the awed side, which is weird. She's used to being a bit of a pariah, but she can’t deny that it’s a nice sort of change.

The first thing she thinks when she sees Ben behind the window of the next door is nothing at all, because she doesn't recognise his side profile at first glance. He's sitting alone in the carriage, a stack of textbooks in front of him. His hair is messier than usual, and he's decidedly tanner. Both changes suit him. He looks more alive, saturated technicolour rather than washed-out pastel. It's a bittersweet feeling, seeing him again, looking well after three months of silence.

Her hands reach for the hatch, then linger there. It takes a burst of strength - or maybe a moment of weakness - for her to finally open the door. She sticks her head in, just in time to get a full view of Ben flicking his wand up, lips pressed together. The stack of books float up, dispersing mid-air as he waves his wand in three definitive directions.

Non-verbal incantations on multiple targets? It's pretty impressive for a fifth year starting out. A complex mix of emotions wells up in her. Pride in her friend for having come so far, a dash of competitive spirit... and the ache of the memory that flashes before her eyes: of a difficult duel, of unexpected curses hurled at her with no hesitation, of him holding her at wandpoint.

Kiera shakes the image away, tries to ignore the pang in her chest. "Practising for NEWTs already?" She asks at last, a tendril of amusement in her tone.

"Kiera!" Ben startles. The heavy tomes fall back on the table with a loud crash. They both wince as Ben fumbles, hurriedly moving to fix the books from their splayed positions. In many ways, he's the same Ben that she's known since they were eleven, and Kiera can't help the laugh that makes its way out of her mouth.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in." Ben says sheepishly.

"Of course. Sneakiness is a basic Slytherin requirement, remember?" Kiera quips, earning a short laugh from Ben.

"You've had plenty of practice." Ben agrees easily.

But this is the first time they've met in months, their first summer without any correspondence, and there's too much that should - and needs to be said. The familiarity in the room drains out, heavy tension settling between them in its stead.

Kiera clears her throat, trying to gather her thoughts - because it's not like Ben is going to start being the first to make his move, is he?

Neither of them gets to, in the end.

"Oh, there you are, Kiera!" A sixth year Ravenclaw prefect calls out to her from the corridor. She turns to face her, both glad for the distraction and anything but. "We're to assemble for an announcement. Apparently, it's something about Dumbledore."

Her stomach clenches as she catches Ben's eyes, sees something there that she can't quite place.

"See you later, Ben." She calls out.

"...See you." Ben replies softly as she leaves.

 

…

 

The meeting on the Hogwarts express was unexpected, but perhaps symptomatic of the way it’s probably going to be this year. He hadn't realised how much he missed Kiera - the dark sarcasm in her letters, the intense yet strangely calming nature of her presence.

"I understand if you don't want to talk to me after all that happened last year." He says to Kiera when their eyes meet in the great hall. The rest of their friends – Kiera’s friends – have gathered in a circle near the front of the hall. He hesitates, knowing better than to assume he is welcome.

"Don't be silly." Kiera all but rolls her eyes, grabs Ben by the wrist and starts to drag him towards the rest of their friends. Two steps in, however, and she turns back to look him in the eye and fixes him with a searching stare. "But an explanation is in order."

It really is. And they're both ready for it now, aren't they?

He takes a deep breath, gathers enough of the resolve thrumming through his veins to muster a small smile. "I think it's time you got one. I'll meet you soon?"

There's a fleeting expression of surprise on Kiera's face, but then her eyes light up and her lips widen into a grin, and it suddenly hits him like a _Depulso_ charm - what Shane meant.

The rest of them range from cautiously friendly to awkward to vaguely hostile, but that's okay. He's going to take things one at a time, and right now, there's something he needs to figure out.

 

…

 

The career guidance meeting with Professor McGonagall is… awkward.

Ben has been living by the year - or rather, by each vault, and the thought of what he's going to do for the rest of his life hasn't been on his mind at all. He'd rather focus on breaking all the curses and removing the voice from his mind than anything.

McGonagall gestures to a stack of pamphlets on her desk, seemingly oblivious to Ben's inner turmoil.

He picks out one of them by random, blanches when he realises it's for curse-breaking at Gringotts. He hastily replaces it. 

McGonagall's lips twitches. "Not your cup of tea?"

"N-no." He answers. "I might try for a desk job at the Ministry, or work as a spell researcher and inventor?"

He suggests off the top of his head. McGonagall looks at him with a level gaze. "Sound options, especially the latter, but I always recommend students of your calibre to stretch yourselves."

"I don't think-" Ben weakly protests.

McGonagall directs his gaze to his most recent report card. 'O' in charms, astronomy and arithmancy, 'E' for everything else but potions. He's not really sure, but he's sure it's nothing incredible, compared to the straight 'O's that Rowan probably gets.

"The headmaster has informed me about your unique circumstances," McGonagall begins delicately, her tone softer than before.

Ben stiffens, but forces himself to maintain the eye contact.

“Now that you're a fifth year, I'll expect more effort in your schoolwork. But if you do have any problems, do let one of your professors know.” McGonagall directs him a small smile. "Here, take a few of these with you. They might be relevant." McGonagall waves her wand, and a few of the pamphlets form a pile that flies into his hand.

"Thank you, professor." He says.

It's only when he gets back to his dormitory that he looks through the stack: researcher, healer, curse-breaker and… department of mysteries?"

He groans, wondering what kind of impression he must have set on McGonagall.

 

…

 

It's been a lot lengthier an explanation without the help of legilimency. Granted, he probably shouldn't have started with “I wouldn't have if I didn’t think I had no choice, but there’s been something I’ve been hiding from you since second year.”

In phase one, Kiera had adopted her “you can tell me everything” mode, directed her patient attention on him, demanded the full story from him. In phase two, Kiera had been nothing short of horrified, expressing regret for not realising so much had been going on for him.

Perhaps, he should have left it there. Ben kind of regrets telling her about his solo forays to explore the vaults, because now they’re well into phase three – and his shoulder’s starting to get sore from all the punches Kiera's laid on him. He’s also pretty sure his soul is wilting from all the withering glares he’s been directed for being _“so goddamn reckless.”_ He really wonders how she can alternate between sympathetic and ready-to-murder in the span of a sentence.

“ _What do you mean_ you went there _alone_ without learning _arania exumai?_ ”

Ben winces. That one's going to bruise. He’s just about to tell her about the alternative spell he'd learnt when he sees it. A flash of movement behind Kiera – a dark shadow that's decidedly humanoid.

"Watch out!"

He grabs her by the shoulders and swings them both out of the way of the spell hurtling towards them in an act of rash desperation. It's reckless adrenaline fuelling him when he reaches into his robes, and pure luck that his fingers close around his wand.

" _Protego!_ " The shield comes up, barely in time to block the sickly purple spell.

" _Incarcaerous!_ ” Kiera shouts.

A series of ropes surround the figure of the dark wizard, but they close around nothing but fabric. They look up, only to see the wizard's figure rushing off into the darkness. They're left with robes, sans attacker, but that's better than no clue. Besides, Ben is more than willing to bet that their attacker is merely another pawn of R or the vaults or whatever. Like him.

"Are you alright?" Kiera asks, placing a hand on his arm. "You're shaking."

He looks up from the robes with a jolt. Indeed, he is.

"I'm… fine. I'm just-"

"Scared?" Kiera asks, with a twitch of her lips.

A burst of frustration flashes through him at the insinuation, but it's true. Second vault curse or not. "Yeah. Deathly afraid." He mutters. But his voice is laden with something else - something that surprises them both. Anger. At himself, at the vault and its will, at whoever else that wants to hurt them. But it's not something he wants to vent on Kiera. He exhales deeply, tries to keep his frazzled nerves in check. "How about you?"

Kiera shakes her head, flashes a wry smile and begins to reason. "It’s my third time being attacked. The first time alone was the worst. At least we managed to scare off whoever it was this time."

Ben swallows. He'd definitely been the second - but had he been the first too? He clenches his fist, nails digging into his palm, averts his gaze. "The vaults are targeting you. You really shouldn't go anywhere alone from now on... or even with people you don’t know well.”

Kiera rolls her eyes, a flicker of irritation in her gaze. "I do for most stuff. Should I just hide away in my room and find a babysitter every time I need to investigate something small, never mind that the more people I bring the more I'll have to worry about?"

"That's not what I mean! Besides, just because you're capable of protecting yourself doesn't mean the rest of us aren't." Ben says, his frustration coming to a boil even though he doesn’t mean it to. “It's just… now that whoever was spying on us heard how much I told you, they may step up their efforts to hurt you and I could never forgive myself if one day someone came up to me and tell me you're _dead.”_ His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s only then that he realises the crescendo his voice has been taking.

A shocked silence descends upon them. Kiera's staring at him like they've never met before. Ben flushes. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so… dramatic.”

"It’s fine." Kiera says, her lips drawing into a smirk. "I can see why the hat put you in Gryffindor after all. It takes a brave soul to shout at me."

"…That’s all it takes? None of what I did that before counts?” Ben can't help asking in an incredulous tone.

“Nope!” Kiera says brightly, before schooling her expression into something more serious. “But for what it’s worth, I’m really glad you told me about everything today.” She pauses, takes a deep breath. "I promise to be more careful. And since you've graciously volunteered, expect me to call on you some time. My only condition is _you_ do the same."

"What?"

"You were planning to go off on your own to investigate the robes, weren't you? If we’re going by your argument, you're probably a target now too." Kiera points out, an eyebrow raised.

Ben blinks. It's true. The thought had crossed his mind, and he hadn't realised how hypocritical it was. The idea that she trusts him makes his chest feel lighter, but should he really be trusted? He swallows. Maybe not, but… he wants to be. He meets Kiera’s gaze. "Okay. But if I seem to do anything suspicious, please promise to stun me and get me out of the way.”

Kiera nods solemnly. They both look down at the robes in Ben's hands.

"By the way…" Kiera begins in a suspiciously innocent tone as they walk back to the castle. "Since the proverbial egg's been laid and all, you're telling the rest soon, right? I can help gather everyone." She pauses, flashes another smirk. "I'll let Charlie and Bill tear into you since we got rudely interrupted before I could finish.”

Ben pales. It's a special kind of horror that floods his veins at the thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the (slight?) canon divergence begins... Thank you everyone for the kudos and comments on the first chapter - they're very motivational! :)


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